Traitor
by Emyraz.A.Lacea
Summary: The ransacking of Dirge and the massacre of the Spirit Monks. An Ex-Monk returns to see the destruction of the city he once called home. He makes a choice. Is it right? Rated T for assumed violence.


Traitor

Mikaelah Brinkerhoff

" _I wear the chains I forged in life - every link and yard…."_

The rooftops of my once beloved city groan in a chilling chorus as the flames reach their flickering fingertips up into the sky. Every nook and cranny of my old home takes on a red-orange hue as the inferno rages hotter and bigger and more out of control. The city lies in stark contrast with the shadow of its memory that rests just behind my eyes. Walls made of stone. Flags billowing proudly in the mountain breeze. Laughing citizens moseying to and fro through its many streets. And at the very heart, the city's greatest treasure - the _Empire's_ greatest treasure - the temple of the Water Dragon.

Breaking my eyes away from the temple city's destruction, my gaze turns eastward - toward the approaching dawn. I cannot help but note the symbolism of the coming of a new day - a new beginning - and one where I will no longer be bound to a Celestial Being because of my birth.

This city, tucked safely into the mountains of the north, can no longer hide its secret from the empire. It can no longer withhold the key to our Empire's survival. I may have once protected its heart from the greedy grasp of the Emperor, but no longer. Not when people starve of famine and suffer of plague. Not when it can all be amended by what hides in the city's heart.

The people of this city are selfish - keeping the solution to all the Empire's problems locked away in a stone building far out of reach. It took me a long time to realize my own greed. Too long. I am only doing these people a service - showing them the error of their ways. I wish someone had been as kind to me.

As I turn my gaze again to the destruction of my childhood home, a clamor begins to filter itself into my awareness. Shattering glass sounds from inside homes erupt from around me on all sides as the figures of the Imperial Army force their way into the humble structures. I shake my head, unable to turn my attention from the chaos. If only they had listened. If only they had agreed. Everything would have been simpler. Everything would have been calmer.

But the people of this city are inherently selfish creatures, secluded as they are from the troubles of the rest of the world. They do not know of the hundreds of loved ones that litter the streets of the Imperial City, or the ones that pile outside of villages. They do not know of the thousands that starve from the lack of harvest, or the ones that die of thirst from the drying of their wells. If these northerners knew what their treasure cost, surely they wouldn't so adamantly refuse their Emperor.

I certainly didn't.

The sound of footsteps slice through my thoughts and the beginnings of a memory. Instantly, the hackles rise and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. The footfalls are purposeful, composed. I know who they belong to instantly. Not a lowly foot-soldier - whose footfalls betray his submission - nor a terrified northerner - whose padding feet would be would be quick and full of fear. These footsteps are heavy, unhurried. They belong to one who is used to getting his way, to one who demands respect.

I feel my breath hitch in my chest as the presence behind me comes to a leisurely halt just behind my left shoulder blade. My eyes widen of their own accord and I feel my heart pound in my chest - so loud that I'm sure the presence behind me can hear it too.

I don't turn. I wouldn't dare. Even though a mask hides his face from the world, (it doesn't protect those near him from his wrath)

Silence presses in around the presence and I, and not even the shouts of my former family could penetrate the unholy halo surrounding us. I bite my lip, every single nerve of my body straining towards my left shoulder blade as I keep my eyes fixed on the presence's greatest achievement.

"Are you sure?" The voice drags against my eardrums like metal, and goosebumps erupt along my flesh despite my close proximity to the flames.

"Of what?" My voice comes out a harsh whisper, scratchy and painful in my throat. I know the mask behind me can hear the fear in my tone - the fear of what might happen if this fails.

"Are you sure the Monks will surrender?"

I swallow hard, doubt clouding the reason in my mind. But these people aren't fighters. They are soft, peaceful, people. They would bend to the will of the Empire before blood could be shed.

"Yes," I answer, my voice ringing out in the bitter mountain air, and then softer, "yes."The footsteps then recede slightly from behind me, a little bit beyond the halo that we had created.

My thoughts once again turn inward as I silently plead with any celestial being that could ever exist to let the Monks give up. Let them value their own lives - and the lives of the Empire - over the Being that lives in the temple. Let them see the wisdom of what the Mask is doing, of what I had planned. Please, let them see.

My whole body goes rigid as a blood-curdling scream shatters my inner pleading. Cutting my eyes towards the source, I see a young mother, her newborn clasped tightly to her chest, wailing over a dark figure crumpled in a heap on the stone street. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard to prevent from heaving right here on the bridge. A man. The figure is one of a man.

A man that she loves. Is he her husband? Her brother? Her father? Why is he on the ground? Did the Imperial Army cuff him for his lack of compliance? Is it because of this winter wind that bites through thin clothing? Why won't he get up? Why is he just laying there, all limp and dead to the world.

 _Dead to the world._

The bile surges in my throat again, and this time I do heave. Huge, convulsions take over me as my stomach rids itself of the little that resided inside it. And even once emptied, my body shudders and quakes, shock seeping into it like melting ice. Sinking to my knees, I let out a moan, forgetting for a moment the presence that lingers behind me like a shadow.

These people - _my_ people - why can't they back down? Can't they see? This is best. This is right. This is taking care of the Empire. This will help others. Why can't they see?

My stinging eyes land once again on the fallen Monk, and then - of their own accord - they lift to those of the young woman. Even through the haze of smoke and a few lengths distance, her eyes meet and hold my own. My breath catches the for the second time tonight, but for an entirely different reason. A slight sheen cast by the firelight on her cheeks has my heart beating rapidly and the slumped look of her shoulders as she grips her child sets a heavy burden on my own.

Her grief becomes mine. For a brief instant it is I who trembles before the fallen loved one, my mind numbing from the inside out as I stare unblinking down at him. A heat presses against the back of my eyes that has nothing to do with the flames before me.

What had I done? Did I really think my family would go quietly into the night, peacefully, when their greatest treasure lay shielded away high up on the mountain top? Did I really think they would stand aside and let their beloved goddess be carted away to care for the trivial needs of a dying Emperor? No. Not by a long shot.

And neither should I.

Not daring to look back at the man who stands a few paces from me, I bolt from my kneeled stance on the frozen bridge - directly toward the mourning woman and her now-wailing child. As I near, she regards me with wide, dark eyes - her mouth open in a slight 'o'. Gingerly, I round her fallen loved one, and as I reach arm's length, she thrusts the babe into my hands.

On instinct, I clutch the tiny thing to my chest, wrapping the warmth of my body around it as I gaze at the woman with a wordless question in my gaze. deftly, she gestures to her abdomen, and I glimpse a patch of scarlet that steadily spreads as we stand there.

"Take him." She rasps, smoke clogging her throat and making her double over with hacking coughs. I nod, my own throat searing with the inhalation of the gray embers. I turn to go and she rests a single hand on on my shoulder. I crane my neck back, and the look in her dark eyes nearly makes me stumble. Nodding again, I make my legs carry me toward the east wall - toward the coming dawn - and hopefully a place of refuge.

Looking down at the small being wrapped in my arms, a clenching in my chest steals my breath as he gazes up at me with the same eyes as his mother.

Determined to save at least one of my old family, I creep slowly towards the outskirts of the city where an exit to the mountain lies hidden in the shadows. I pick my way through rubble and debris, holding my breath as much as I can and keeping my gaze forward. Whenever I stumble across a soldier, I whirl and go back the way I had come and around a house before making my way east again.

Soon, the door rises in front of me, and I bolt across the last barren street, wrench open the door, and make my way down the snowy mountainside. I can make it. I can make it.

Looking down again at the babe - who hasn't torn his gaze from my face since we first bolted from his mother - I silently curse myself for thinking that ransacking the city behind me was a wise decision. There must be a reason mothers and fathers don't just back down quietly to save their children. What would they fight more fiercely for then their own children?

The Water Dragon.

The goddess whose body is being fought over. Whose body is the reason so many people are dying. On both sides.

The Shepherd of the Dead, some call her. More like the Harbinger of the Dead.

Internally glaring back at the temple, I swear as I slog through snow up to my knees, that this child will not meet the Water Dragon until he is old and gray. I will protect him. Nurture him. Teach him the history of our people. We will most likely be the last of our kind. I will teach him the Ways of the Spirit Monks. We will survive.

"I will not let you touch him." I whisper into the swirling wind. "Not him."

But perhaps the Dragon has a different plan for us, because just as we dip into a niche in the mountain side, a burning pain shoots across my back. I fall, my back landing in the icey white powder underneath me. Instantly, the pain cools and numbs, my mind fading around the edges. Distantly, I think of the child that lays on top of me, his face buried in the warmth of my neck.

"I won't let you get him." I growel up at the sky. "I won't do it." I wouldn't let the goddess touch him if it meant I could redeem myself for all the wrong I'd caused. I could do right by this child. I _needed_ to do right by him. I needed to.

"It's a little late for that." A dreaded voice floats over my cooling form, and I squinch my eyes shut before I can catch a glimpse of the snarling orange mask. Cool metal kisses the skin at the base of my throat , making me flinch. This is not how it is supposed to end. My fate couldn't end here. And the boy …

"For your treasonable actions against the Sun's Heir, your punishment is execution. Yours, and the child's."

Groaning, I force my eyes open, only to see spots dance across the blood orange mask.

Death's Hand stands before me. The Emperor's General and trusted companion. He would do as he says. I have to protect this child.

But how?

Darkness encroaches on my vision, and a strange tingling spreads from my back, around my shoulders, down through my legs and arms, and creeps across my chest to my heart.

The boy…

I don't even know his name.

"Don't kill him." I plead feebly, nearly all my energy spent. "Spare him."

And with that, just as the first rays of the sun peaked over the mountain tops, the black swallowed my mind, and the tingling reached my heart, and I was still.

Good Morning, Dragon.


End file.
